Cal
by Anna W
Summary: Cal is dangerous. The secrets that she keeps are deadly, and as she walks onto the Brooklyn docks half out of her mind, her secrets stay safe.A year later, as second-in-command to Spot Conlon, this mystery girl has not let her guard down and Spot doesn't
1. Default Chapter

The hallway was empty, deprived of its usual lively happenings, habitually including music and eventful people. The servants had all gone to bed, most likely already entrapped in the only silent solace of the day. They were constantly kept busy with the comings and goings of the household they were in charge of keeping clean. The Plenar household was a worthy and well- bearing majesty for them, filled with people most of the time, gaily laughing and swaying in their silk and satin materials. The women were always exaggeratedly well kept and naturally brilliantly lit- glitter in their eyes and an unearthly sparkle all throughout their pale luscious skin. There beautiful faces shined with more than just typical rouge. It was the pure happiness and innocence of someone without a worry in the world.  
  
The men had the same radiance; nothing would dare hinder their good mood and trivial likes and dislikes. It was a perfect society inside the Plenar walls, full of happiness and spoilt indulgence. Cally Plenar fit in just flawlessly.  
  
She was the daughter of Old Mr. Plenar, a huge businessman in New York City who had no need to work. He had inherited his money with many investments and most likely could live comfortably off it for many hundreds of years to come. He and his family, including a beautiful southern wife and four girls, each of whom he loved in a different way, lived comfortably throughout their lives. Cally was the youngest of these four daughters.  
  
The oldest, Caroline, (her mother, being a Southern Belle, would hear of nothing else than having her first child named in a Southern fashion) had been happily and easily married off to some young rich gentleman, who had instantly fallen in love with her at first sight. There was no doubt that Caroline was the prettiest of the four girls, for she possessed such glorious golden curls, and such a sweet smile, that when she decided to upturn her lips, it was as if she had flicked a switch that sent a vivacious and energetic fire through her entire body. This caused a disdainful sparkle to commence in her deep brown eyes, making any man near her drop his mouth open, only the fact of their supposed grace preventing them from drooling. The immediately infatuated gentleman, by the name of Clark Dafton, had taken one look at Caroline Plenar and had at that point started a relentless fight to have her all to himself. He had won. Caroline found that she could not resist her new founded completely enthralled, man, so when he proposed to her, Caroline had accepted. She had barely been eighteen at the time, and he barely twenty-one.  
  
The next daughter in line, three years younger than Caroline, was named Marilyn, and happened to be quite a ravishing beauty herself. However, she would never exemplify the unearthly elegance and splendor that Caroline had somehow come by. Marilyn's hair was a deep auburn, her eyes a magical green. She had a slender figure, making her almost as irresistible as Caroline and a laugh that sounded like a ringing bell, clear and confident. Marilyn was the Irish beauty of the household, and nearly three years after Caroline's own departure made one herself. Another man named John Hidenal, twenty-eight at the time, swore his undying love for Marilyn and she was swept away from her loving, aging father, leaving only two girls behind.  
  
That had been nearly two years ago. Now the remaining girls had aged slightly. The third child, Christine, was not at all as her two older sisters had been. She now was seventeen years old, and held no hope for getting married any time soon, or even starting a future. She did not possess radiance, or even a luster that would make her visible in a crowd. She was not plain either, but something about her, was so tomboyish, so unattractive, that men stayed away. With light brown hair, straight as a board, and hazel eyes, freckles also dotting her cheeks in an unfair fashion, she was doomed to single hood for the rest of her life. Perhaps out of sympathy, she was her father's favorite, and the most spoilt, but still in all of the family's mind, and all of the surrounding men, they knew she would grow to be the spinster.  
  
The last child though, was quite a different story to behold. She was a jewel, plain and simply, with bright green eyes as Marilyn had, but dark russet curls accompanied it as well. She had untamable hair, as Christine had dared to call it several times, and just as untamable a spirit. Some might dare to call her a wild monster. Others with more couth could possibly entertain the idea that she had a free spirit, relentless of earthly troubles.  
  
This was the view with which Old Mr. Plenar chose to hold his sixteen-year- old daughter in. He knew she was not a bad child, for the many sweet kisses she had implanted on his cheek so many times before had been so innocent and naturally good-natured. He knew she was no troublemaker. She had upon occasion gotten into mischief, but slight mischief at that. It only included the few vases in the kitchen being broken and every once in a while, she would wander the streets a tad too late, (and sent her mother into a fabulous southern frenzy) but she would always come home. If anything, the only action that Cally had done to cause him even a slight stress, was the way she acted at parties. She was lively, perhaps too lively. She would drink, and talk loudly and be kind. Sometimes he wondered if the drink softened up her already softened heart. Maybe she did things that she shouldn't…  
  
Little did Mr. Plenar or anyone else in that house know, that Cally Plenar had indeed done things she shouldn't, starting with the Christmas party of her sixteenth year when she had taken it upon herself to listen to a guest…  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Cal started abruptly as she felt her bottom thump against the wooden planks of the docks. She sat on the ground for a moment, too horrified at her easily closing lids to pick herself up right away. Falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon reflected not only her weariness, but her lack of will to prevail as well.  
  
Finally, she pushed her grubby hands against the harsh wood of the docks, feeling the heat reflected off it from the noon sun. Pulling herself up and dusting her dark brown pants off (for no reason at all. They were filthy anyway). She turned around shocked, hoping no one had seen her unlikely blunder. As it was, several people were staring her way, smiles smugly etched onto their faces. Their second in command was falling asleep on the job. It gave them every reason to laugh.  
  
"Eh, Cal, wassa matta witcha? Ain't gettin' enough sleep?"  
  
Cal wistfully turned her head in the direction of the speaker, who happened to be none other than the dull-witted Rummy. She rolled her eyes, frowning at the insult.  
  
"Well, Rummy, I guess only you would know how to spot somethin' like that, considerin' you do it every day!"  
  
She arrogantly walked over to his shocked form and pushed the dirty cap on his head down harshly, covering up his tedious, lifeless eyes. Chuckling, she put her hands on her hips and stalked off, her natural gait gloriously smooth and articulate. A slew of oaths filled the air as Rummy pushed his hat back to proper place atop his mop of blonde curls.  
  
"Ya damn tricks ain't funny no more, Cal! Do ya job or else I'll tell Spot ya aint! 'E'll be mad at ya, all righ' an' I'll take ya God-forsaken position…"  
  
Cal simply waved her hand in the air, disregarding his malice-filled words. Spot, even if his quick temper were riled at her laziness on the job as of lately, would never even fathom giving the incredible oaf, Rummy, her hard earned position. Spot was no fool, and in order to keep this eminence of his usual brilliance, he needed a just as accomplished companion to help him along the way. Until Cal had come a year ago, Spot had not known the meaning of the word, "right hand man". He had been a solo leader, and had wanted to keep it that way. He knew of no one else that would have the brains and guts to go through the almighty terrors he had been through, and still continued defeating. That is, until Cal, her fluent words, pushy, yet somehow at the same time easy going and free personality had entered the picture.  
  
Cal reminisced silently, as she climbed on top of several boxes, marveling at her stamina against the heat, and watched the younger boys play. Spot had been happy enough to give her a bed to sleep in and nourishment for her withered body, when she had dazedly walked onto these docks one blazing day a year ago. She had sensed the smell of water, and in a complete disregard for all that was proper, had every intention of jumping off the docks to cool off her disgruntled dress and sweating heated skin. She had not noticed that people actually inhabited the docks. Set on her destination, she had ignored the stares, the laughs and even the catcalls.  
  
Once she had reached the edge, knees bent and ready to complete the task, she had thought, (and only she to this day knew this) why not forgot the swimming that came so easily to her? Why not…sink? The blue water's depths had been so inviting to her longing soul that she did not even notice someone grasp her around the waist and proceed to lift her away from the water. She had been so surprised by the blue waves sudden disappearance that she had not even fought the person. There had been realization then of her worn out nerves, and how her tireless searching had caused her to resist sleep for two days…. maybe more…  
  
When the person had relinquished his (for he had very strong arms) hold upon her, she had collapsed on the wood, usually burnished black boots now turned brown with the mud she had walked through, flailing out, long green dress, haggard and torn as it was, falling softly around her.  
  
That was all she remembered of that fateful day she had walked into the docks of the Brooklyn newsies. The day where her life had taken a complete swirl onto greener pastures. She loved it here and would not trade this new hard-core, non-frivolous life for anything. Her only terms with the newly founded company were that they were not to ask questions. If they asked questions, she would leave them without a thought, without a qualm.  
  
"Cal!"  
  
Cal shook her head, remembering once again how she had absently forfeited her present duty.  
  
"What?" she snapped, looking around for the caller. Only too soon did she realize that it was Spot and she shook her head in embarrassment and ran a hand through her sweaty long brown hair.  
  
Spot's figure immediately exposed itself through the hot mob below her. She squinted seeing the gray cap traveling toward her, seeing the lanky legs covered in brown pants. He was not too out of the ordinary, looking down on him. He looked like every other newsie, adorned in the usual pants, button down shirt and cap. Except as he climbed up on top of the crate where she presently resided, she knew he was anything but ordinary.  
  
"Cal, why didn't ya ansa me da foist tree times I called ya?" Spot bounded up to her position, smiling slightly, that usual half-smirk of goodness. The smirk lit up his stunning face, bright blue eyes, tan skin and all. Slight dimples protruded the side of his cheeks.  
  
Cal simply shrugged saying, "I didn't hear you the foist tree times." She snickered at her own imitation of his thick Brooklyn accent. She had never been able to acquire it fully, only bits and pieces, for her proper accent was strong and would not go as fast as she wished.  
  
He rolled his eyes at her mocking, smiling again.  
  
"Cal, you're insane." Oh, how many times had he said that in the past year, and how little did he know that the joking words he spoke were so close to the truth there was no point to laugh. In this manner did a light frown touch her lips once more.  
  
"I know I am," she answered simply, not even a smile daring to touch her lips.  
  
He patted her on the back, her blue shirt sticky with the sweat of a hard day's work. It was how it was everyday. She glistened in the morning, the summer heat starting with the coming of the sun, then through the afternoon, when she was most likely done with selling, the glisten would turn into an outright downpour as it was now. By the end of the evening, her long brown curls, wilted, and clothes sticky and putrid, she would wash away the nasty smell with a cold bath. It was so simple it required no thought.  
  
"Ya know dere's a show at Medda's tonight. Jacky-boy's asked us ta be dere."  
  
She turned quizzically facing him, putting a hand over her eyes to shield the sun out of her vision. She met blue sparkling ones, still quite lively through the heat.  
  
"That's all Jack called you over ta talk about? To invite us to a show? Well that's a waste of a meetin'."  
  
Spot rolled his eyes at her usual audacity to see more into the situation.  
  
"Yeah, dat wudn't da whole meetin', Cal, you're right," he muttered, slightly annoyed, "We'se talked bout different tings."  
  
With this, she laughed heartily, jumping down from the crates. Spot followed her lead, inattentively grabbing the top of his luminescent cane— his weapon, his joy. Cal walked underneath a quiet shading, sitting among the various ropes and rotted wood. Spot continued to stand, blocking the sun completely from Cal's vision.  
  
"Quit being secretive and tell me what the meeting was about," Cal said after several minutes of silence, "I'm your second in command, Conlon. You should trust me by now."  
  
Spot stayed silent for several more moments, unable to will the truth out of his guilty mind.  
  
"Ain't nuttin' you need ta heah bout," he mumbled in an undertone, taking his cap off to wipe the gathered sweat droplets on his brow.  
  
Again, Cal let a loud snicker escape her lips, and Spot felt his good mood vanish with the boldness of her knowing.  
  
"In other words, Conlon, you were talkin' about me, and maybe a few other insignificant things."  
  
Cal pushed herself up again, adjusting her sweaty hair to one shoulder, her customary do. Spot forcefully put his hands in his pockets and Cal stared him down, her green eyes ablaze.  
  
"Cal, I'm sorry. It's just…" Spot's voice trailed off with the coming wind.  
  
Cal heard several calls in Spot's direction, but he ignored them all, still trying to feign his feelings into plausible words.  
  
"Spot!" came a yell again.  
  
"Yeah, what is it?" Spot's head turned abruptly away from her as he sharply replied to his new company, which happened to be a six-year-old boy named Downy. Downy had tears in his big blue eyes, making his name even more conceivable.  
  
"Cal," Downy said, seeing Spot's immediate irritation, then looking shocked from her's as well.  
  
"What, Downy?" Cal responded, softening her tone to make up for the look on her face that was purely meant for Spot.  
  
"Stealth threw me sword inta da wata, an' I cain't swim, an I wanna get it, but I don't know—"  
  
Cal held her hand up to silence the incoherent babble. Downy quickly shut his mouth.  
  
"So basically, you want one of us to go into the water to get it?" she asked.  
  
He nodded, then added, "Or one o' youse can beat up Stealth. Dat'd be jist as good—"  
  
He shut his mouth again as he saw Cal's look of anger and Spot's look of "get the hell away before I beat ya". Downy still persisted to look sad and dejected as the two leaders determined what to do with their ridiculous predicament. Spot's face plainly read "leave it be. He's a big kid". However, Cal's looks represented quite a different emotion. Perhaps it was compassion, perhaps just the freedom and plea to jump in the water. Nevertheless, she was plainly looking at Spot telling him to back off. Spot acquiesced holding his hands up in surrender.  
  
Cal slowly walked to the pier she had not visited since that day a year ago, when those many disturbing thoughts had presented themselves. It was uncanny, seeing it again, but she felt there was every need to face the fear, and conquer it.  
  
Standing at the edge of the old wooden planks, almost ready to jump in, the heat pressuring her with every second of her hesitation, her thoughts again wandered. They wandered to the conversation Spot and Jack had most likely had. It must have been their worry and deep confusion of Cal that they discussed. If not, then she knew not what.  
  
"Eh, Cal, are ya gonna get me sword?"  
  
Cal snapped her head in Downy's direction, hurriedly replying a cruel, "Can it, Downy!" He again shut his trap and scuttled off to find comfort in a tolerable host.  
  
Cal rolled her eyes, realizing how often her thoughts wandered as of lately, when she had distinctly promised herself not to think about it. She needed distraction. That must be a cure. Going to Medda's was a good idea after all. Booze and some music to her senses might get her working as she usually did. She usually acted attentive, perhaps not always kind, but she was usually all there. She wondered what was going on.  
  
Finally, without anymore excuse preventing her contact with the water any longer, she looked out into the blue abyss and saw the worthless wooden sword floating five feet away. With a quick jump, she felt suddenly a lovely sensation fill her as first her feet, then her torso, and then her head collided with the water. It was cool, and appealing to Cal's senses, she opened her eyes for a moment, seeing the filthy water around her, seeing her long now unruffled hair floating about her in russet strands. She saw her sunburnt arms float in front of her, her hands looking a tad less grubby then usual. All this ended though, as she remembered her challenge, and floated upwards. Her head popped up and she immediately swam over to the sword, then easily swam back to the dock, lifting herself onto the planks once more. She threw the sword aside, seeing Downy's yelp of glee as he saw it, then sauntered back over to Spot, flipping her hair over then wringing it out.  
  
"Feel good?" Spot asked quietly, staring, an unreadable statue, into her face.  
  
"Yeah, it's a helluva lot better then this damn heat if that's what you mean."  
  
Spot painfully glanced at her, pacing backwards and forwards.  
  
"What is wrong with you?" she asked. He stared at her face again, fervently waiting, but apparently could no longer hold back his intentions.  
  
"Actually, Cal, I was bout ta ask ya da same thing…"  
  
Cal stared at him, no longer quizzical, but simply awaiting the next stupid thought to come out of his mouth.  
  
"Nothing is wrong with—"  
  
"Yeah, Cal, I knew dat ya would give me dat. I knew ya'd say, 'O, nuttin at all is wrong, what are ya talking bout?'. Cal, I know ya! Don't take me for stupid cuz I know evertin your gonna say. I also know dat every word comin out of ya mouth afta dis is gonna be a lie."  
  
Cal kept her mouth shut, realizing with angry resolution that he was speaking the absolute truth. She would be lying if she continued and said what she had trained herself to say. Spot seeing her resolute silence, continued his tirade, already gaining some stares from the surrounding boys. Cal felt her insides boil as he spoke more.  
  
"Ya know, Cal, bout tree munts afta ya came heah, I'm sure as hell ya don't remember it, but, I asked ya…I asked, why're ya heah? And you know what you told me? Cal, ya told me dat you would tell me da truth finally. You said, 'Spot, maybe not today, but soon.'—"  
  
"Shut up, Conlon!" Cal yelled finally.  
  
After she said this the surrounding boys, having paused at the commencement of Spot's yells, now started hooting catcalls such as "Fight, fight!" and "Beat 'er!" A circle formed around the two, as the silence was prolonged. It was almost tribal. The boys clapped and beat their fists together. Some knocked on the wood, starting a very lively pulse throughout the docks. Cal and Spot stared at each other, Spot's fists clenched at his side, wishing with all his might that he could smack some sense into her.  
  
"Cal, I'm so tired of ya lyin'! You ain't usually dis disagreeable, and I ain't ever thought dat I would need ta ask questions, or even get mad atcha, but," he paused seeing her eyes glow with a brilliance only absolute fury could cause. Unaffected he continued, " it's impossible not ta! Ya slackin', Cal, an'…an'…I can see ya ain't all heah. Ya don't even see it yaself!"  
  
"You gonna hit me?"  
  
The question rang through the air, as Cal backed up slightly in mild surprise, watching Spot bring his fists up. There were cheers from the onlookers and Cal's face again became something Spot had never seen- afraid.  
  
She quickly covered this with the same mask she had worn the entire year he had known her.  
  
"Conlon, you would hit me, huh? I'm not shocked…"  
  
Cal smiled slightly, a very malicious glint in her eye, the passion spurring on the cruelty.  
  
"What da hell is dat supposed ta mean?" he grunted, stepping nearer to her. She remained still, laughing slightly, the wind picking up her hair and making it fly in front of her face in beautiful waves.  
  
"God, Conlon, of all people, and you don't think I can tell? You don't think that I can see right through you? I know what's happened ta you—"  
  
"Oh, really, Cal? Then tell me, what da hell happened ta me! I bet its gonna be nuttin but lies! Dat's all ya do! You're lyin' an' you know it!" Spot walked a step closer to Cal, noticing how she didn't take a step back. Instead, she walked several steps closer, making them only two or three feet apart. Her veins were boiling with pent up anger, and suddenly, the only outlet that would please her the most was Spot Conlon.  
  
"Your acting like your damn father, Conlon, and ya blasted mother! I can tell he beat you…its obvious! I don't know why you expect me to go on and on about my past, when yours is even more screwed up!"  
  
Cal glared ferociously at Spot, the massive beat taking her several steps closer to him. He came closer too, his fists raised. His teeth were gritted in anger and his clamped hands were shaking in anxiety.  
  
Cal took the remaining step between them, a ghost of a smile on her lips.  
  
"So, why don't you hit me, Conlon?"  
  
There was a deadly pause; only the banging on the wood and the clapping and cheering could be heard and that stopped too as all the boys saw Spot's hands come down. Cal and Spot stared at each other, a complete surprise rising in Cal's flushed cheeks and a very cold-eyed stare from Spot.  
  
"You ain't worth it," he whispered angrily, stalking through the silent crowd, pushing and grunting as he went.  
  
Cal stood there in a stony silence, letting the words sink in. There could have been many things she replied to his insulting truth. She could have muttered something about how she most certainly was not, that he was the worthless one here. She might have said how he was afraid of her, maybe even whisper that he had lost his nerve.  
  
Cal dared not to do it though. She dare not insult him, for she knew that this was not the end. She had said the unthinkable. She had gone too far and he would not let her off the hook. Patiently, she waited in the circle, watching, as everyone else was, Spot's quiet pace back and forth, to the circle, and then away again. He was thinking horrible things about her. She was sure of it.  
  
Back and forth, he paced, and Cal stood there, daring to breathe. Was she to feel guilt? She could not sense anything in her resembling remorse; she did not know if she was sorry for what she had said. She knew the truth in her words as well as his, they were equals in each other's eyes now, but it mattered not. He was fuming and she would not get away with it.  
  
Finally, his gait stopped. He was turned away from the circle; his hands could only be crossed against his chest in their usual position.  
  
"Oh, an', Cal," he muttered, lazily turning towards her, his eyes glinting still with heated fury. "I ain't needin' a right hand man. Youses demoted, until ya can tell me da truth, dat is."  
  
Perhaps if she had not been hardheaded or easily angered, Cal would have accepted these terms and gone off to leave the leader alone and smolder elsewhere. However, as it was, the anger only seethed inside of her, finally willing itself to come out for a second degrading time:  
  
"Screw second in command!" she yelled, clenching her fists together.  
  
Spot turned to her, his eyes clearly telling her to shut her mouth or else worse would happen. She didn't heed it, for she was tired of this. It was time for something new anyway.  
  
"Screw demotion!" she yelled again. The crowd stared at her, wondering why she pursued this madness. "I'm done with this place! No need to demote me, Conlon! I'm out of heah!"  
  
Without a second thought, Cal walked out of the circle of boys, pushing and hitting until she obtained her freedom. She stalked off furiously, and then as she got to the end of the dock, she turned, smirking spitefully.  
  
"Farewell, Brooklyn!"  
  
Cal walked out of the place, not knowing exactly what to do. 


	2. Ch 2

HEY ALL!!! I'm back.I know it took me forever to update, but here is 1 update! "I don't know" will be updated sometime soon.I've gotten through half of the chapter already! The wrong way to run.well..let's just say I need to doctor it up a tad bit b4 I put anymore up! Hell is Waiting is coming soon too! Don't is halfway done! Hehe.so read review and enjoy this one! I think you'll find it interesting.the plot thickens.dun dun dun!  
  
Much love to Chalyce! Go read her stories.they are great!  
  
Anna  
  
Chapter 2  
  
"Cally, this is ridiculous!"  
  
Christine's yell traveled through Cally Plenar's room in very accusing and uninviting tones. Cally looked up from her vanity where she had been happily applying slight rouge to her cheeks. It had little effect on her already astonishing features, but it was not the effect that had drawn her to it. It had been the absolute pleasure of finally being of age in the Plenar household. This coming of age had been everything she had awaited for the first fifteen years of her life. Finally, on her sixteenth birthday, her father had finally passed on the age old trust and reliance that allowed her to do such things as stay up all the way through the parties, to wear slight makeup, and even to begin her courting. She smiled happily again, quite forgetting Christine's existence for a moment (something she enjoyed practicing quite often).  
  
"Oh, Cally, would you look at me! You're making me fret so!"  
  
Cally finally raised her gaze, several russet, curled pieces of hair falling about her face with the movement, and saw the form of her plain sister in the doorway. Christine looked certainly frightful! Her hair was only pulled up halfway, the rest of it hanging in very odd places, and she was adorned in only her undershirt and petticoats.  
  
"Christine, what is it? You can't just come running in my room like this when I'm getting ready! I don't do that to you, and-"  
  
"Don't tell me what to do!" was Christine's shrieked order. "And anyway, I just found my pink dress, Cally. Don't give me that look, I know you wore it-"  
  
"Did not!" Cally yelled, standing up to give a better sense of defense that her short frame could not offer. The light green dress she wore fell onto the floor in beautiful jade swells.  
  
"It's stained, Cally! You stained it and I want to wear it tonight!" Christine hissed, the fury becoming visible throughout her face in red splotches.  
  
Cally rolled her eyes, unspeakably miffed.  
  
"I don't know what you were drinking the last party, Christine, but if I remember correctly, you stained it with some sauce from dinner because you wore it!"  
  
The noise that escaped Christine's lips sounded quite like some dying animal's last wishes.  
  
"Mark my words! One day I'll catch you, Cally Plenar!" she shouted.  
  
Snorting, Cally replied, "I wouldn't wear your dresses anyway. You have no taste."  
  
The two sisters would have squawked until they had no breath, had not their mother walked into Cally's room, wondering what the fuss was about. Of course, the blame was to be put on Cally, for she was the youngest and the most mischievous. Cally finally lifted her hands up in despair:  
  
"Mama! I did not wear her dress! It wouldn't fit me anyway and I don't like the color!"  
  
"Enough," her mother said shortly to Cally, then, gently touching Christine's arm, said smoothly, "Christine, finish dressing. Both of you need to be down in twenty minutes."  
  
As Christine left the room in a huff, Cally turned to her mother, excitement in her eyes.  
  
"Momma, are Caroline and Marilyn coming tonight?" Cally whispered, clasping her mother's beautiful pale hands in her own.  
  
Angelle Plenar stared at her youngest daughter, Cally's excitement making her smile as well.  
  
"Oh, dear, how could either of them miss it? It's the biggest party of the year!"  
  
The southern drawl was more than convincing.  
  
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*  
  
The sordid condition of the bar Cal sat at, late into the night was only one of the many things that gave her a look of ill humor. Her eyes, usually green and lively, stared dully in front of her, eyebrows furrowed in spite and a slight case of wonder. Her mouth was turned as far down as it possibly could be, the frown so obvious a person a mile away could have suspected foulness from it.  
  
A girl sat next to Cal, staring at the squalor in her partner's position. The girl's fiery, straight red hair traveled all the way down her back, in a long thick line. Her very risqué attire would cause any man to stare, but she paid that little mind. Her brown eyes were wide with the lack of ability to compose herself against Cal's disgust. This was her friend and something was irking her deeply.  
  
"Oh, Cal, I hate it when you look so! Something terrible has happened, hasn't it?"  
  
It seemed as if Cal had not heard the girl, for her eyes remained fixedly staring at the drink upon the table in front of her. The girl obtained an anxious look on her already descriptive features when Cal did not respond.  
  
"Cal-"  
  
"I heard you, Lucille. I always hear you. It's damn hard not to."  
  
Lucille stared shocked for a moment, but only a moment. This was Cal's usual speech. It was her as always, blunt shocking and coarse tone that she used with everyone she met. Lucille just happened to be one that never let it get to her. For some reason she imagined Cal to have some compassion, some humanistic quality that would make her a wonderful person, but she had yet to find it.  
  
Cal was as hard as stone and she wasn't cracking anytime soon.  
  
"Cal, what's wrong?"  
  
Slowly but surely, Cal removed herself from the position she had been stationed in for several hours now at the table in the only bar she knew for refuge. She turned her head several times, hearing the delightful crack of unused muscles. She rolled her shoulders back, immediately enjoying the restoration of her blood flow. Then she took off the cap that had been stationed on her head for nearly 3 days, and pushed back her unruly hair.  
  
She had not feigned to take off the cap after she had left the Brooklyn docks three days ago. She seemed slightly attached to the cap Spot had given her a year ago. She had only used it as an instrument to free herself from the blasted hair that had haunted her being since she was old enough to realize it. For the three days that she had entered this bar at 7:00 sharp, she had felt the immediate regret with her decision to leave Brooklyn. Although her days there had been filled with secrets and late night wanderings through the city, she still looked upon them fondly. Spot had been a hard leader, yet still fair and he had never asked questions until that day.  
  
That's just it, Cally, she reprimanded silently. The questions meant it was time to go. She knew that from long ago. Whenever she was questioned it was time to leave, no questions asked.  
  
She laughed slightly at the irony of it all. The youngest daughter and the most wanted. Oh, how sweet it all turned out.  
  
She was suddenly jerked back to reality by Lucille's clearing throat exercises.  
  
"I hear you," Cal said disgustedly. "What is it you want?"  
  
"God, Cal! I want to know what's wrong? You never usually come into this bar every day. I usually see you once a week if that. Newsie life takes up all that time-"  
  
"Well, there you go. I'm not a newsie anymore. That should answer everything."  
  
The silence that followed was partly from Lucille's shock and partly from Cal's unsociable tendencies of the evening.  
  
"Not exactly," Lucille said after the pause had made a sufficient impression upon Cal.  
  
Cal sighed, an excruciating sound that made Lucille look in great wonder.  
  
Some may wonder why Lucille put herself through the jaded comments and wistful, malignant replies Cal offered to her. It was a very unfeasible thing that only Lucille understood completely. Sometimes even Cal wondered why this girl still sat beside her, worrying and fretting over her as if she actually cared.  
  
However, Lucille was deeply connected to this girl, not because she acted sweet and treated her like a decent friend, but because, at one point Cal had been the only arm there was to help lift her up and put her back on her feet. Cal had stood by her through thick and thin throughout the three years they had known each other. She even didn't mind being seen with Lucille in public, never mind the scandalous job she now possessed.  
  
Cal had a charming heart, deep down through too many struggles to be compromised and Lucille knew this (though not at all about the struggles she was facing) and still believed in her. Cal still didn't seem to realize how fortunate she was to have even a handful of close people who truly cared for her. Some would not show their faces until much later.  
  
"Cal," Lucille gently prodded her with her finger, again making Cal wake up from her senseless daydreaming. No money.no place to stay.nothing to do.  
  
"What?"  
  
The sharp reply was quietly uttered though forcefulness was still perceived.  
  
"Why aren't you with the newsies still? You said you loved it there!"  
  
Oh, how much Lucille loved to display emotion when there ought be none! Cal rolled her eyes only finding sense enough to mutter,  
  
"Correction, I said I liked being with the newsies. And to the part of why I'm not." Cal drifted off trying to find words to fit her meaning shortly and sweetly. "Basically, they pried too much for my liking, and I disrespected Spot Conlon enough to make him demote me. So, seeing the situation, I left."  
  
Lucille was shocked into silence. It was so unexpected. It almost seemed insane, but then again, it was Cal who this was happening to.  
  
Cal seemed to have a very bleak background from what Lucille understood (and that was very little.) Cal never brought up her past, and Lucille had upon occasion dared to ask, but she never seemed to find a response. Every once in a while though, she had let off little tadbits that made Lucille start. The name "Caroline" had escaped her lips on more than one occasion and the name "Christine". It was all so strange.  
  
If only Lucille had known that Cal was only trying to protect her.  
  
"Cal, what are you going to do about money?" Lucille asked softly after another several moments of silence, filled with her deep and worried stare, and Cal's swirling her finger in her drink.  
  
Cal looked up from her prior activity. "I don't know."  
  
"Cal, I think you should go back to the newsies. That was the best job you've ever had and almost respectable too." A pause emitted as each realized the condition of Lucille's clothing. "I'm sure if you apologize, they'd take you back."  
  
"No, I promise you, they wouldn't," Cal stated in a low tone. Her eyes became an even darker shade of green and her frown became even more obtrusive, as if someone had taken her mouth and pulled it down harshly.  
  
It perhaps would have been a sharp-witted idea for either girl to have noticed the strange man that walked into the musty, dark restaurant at that moment. He was nicely dressed, with expensive looking gray pants and a tie (A definite sign of formality). However, his face was blockaded with blackness for a very significant looking hat rested upon his head.  
  
Nevertheless, the girls did just the opposite and chose not to notice the newcomer, even though his searching eyes were knowingly noticing every inch of them.  
  
Surprisingly though, the next person who made their presence known in the restaurant was noticed much more fluently. As he walked through the door, Lucille gasped and Cal turned and looked on with deep disgust and agitation. Jack Kelly took no time in walking toward the table that Cal and Lucille now took up.  
  
"Ain't it a pity dat I gots ta meet yous heah!"  
  
Cal and Lucille looked up into Jack Kelly's usually warm and compassionate face, finding it flushed with anger and unforgiving splotches brushing his cheeks.  
  
"You never had to meet me here," Cal replied evenly, "I never asked you to come, and even if you wanted to come in here to enjoy yourself you didn't have to come see me."  
  
"Just lookin' at ya makes me sick," Jack verbalized harshly.  
  
"Right back at you, big boy."  
  
Her callous reply made him start. She was even harsher than he could ever be, and that gave him an intimidating sense of unknowing. Her tongue was dangerous and her words were lethal.  
  
"Damn you, Cal." Had not Jack already discovered that this would be a losing battle of words?  
  
"I believe that I need no such thing. I'm already in a fiery hell just looking at your face. Maybe you're Satan."  
  
It was strange, listening to the two previous friends bicker. They had always gotten along in the past. Jack had been easy to talk to and always friendly. Cal had not opened up much, but had at least trusted him enough to talk at all. It had ended however, when she had cursed his best friend. It was as if it had been a pride wound to his own heart.  
  
All the while the man with the dark face looked on, watching, absorbing.  
  
Jack's fist hit the table with a loud splat! Cal's unused mug sloshed at the sides, finally tipping over completely. Luckily, the contents splashed on no one around. Cal remained staring fixedly at Jack, her gaze never leaving his sweaty, angry face. He breathed heavily for a moment and Lucille put her hands to her mouth, not doing very well at covering up her scared face and loud shriek.  
  
The bar seemed to not notice at all the troubled atmosphere around the table. Everyone continued talking and mumbling and serving drinks as if nothing had happened. Nothing out of the ordinary anyway.  
  
"What is it you want, Kelly? Why in the hell are you here? I'm not going to sit and let you waste another one of my drinks like that. They aren't cheap you know."  
  
Lucille could still not move. It seemed dangerous to even breathe loudly. These two were about to have it out in the bar. She pushed her chair back slightly, steadying herself for another blow.  
  
Contrary to what Lucille thought; however, Jack simply shrugged, pushing his hair away from his face, a sarcastic smile touching his lips.  
  
"Ain't heah ta fight witcha, Cal. Simply heah ta tell ya ta give Conlon 'is cap back. E's outside waitin' fer ya ta hand it ova-"  
  
"I may be close to drunk, Kelly, but I'm not stupid. I'm not walking outside like an idiot to be pounced on by Conlon and your ridiculous entourage!"  
  
Again, Jack shrugged at Cal's coarse words, though he stared at her a little more agitated.  
  
"Ain't heah ta pounce on ya eider. Conlon wants 'is cap back is all!"  
  
To both the surprise of Jack and Lucille, Cal pushed her chair back harshly, wood screeching against wood, and stood up facing Jack. She placed her emerald, filthy cap on top of her head and defiantly glared at Jack's tall figure.  
  
"Tell him to come and get me then. Its not his friggin cap anymore! As far as I'm concerned, him and his following dumbass cronies can go shove themselves into a God-forsaken garbage pile!"  
  
Fury-filled and completely blind to the fact that the dark gentlemen had left only seconds before, Cal stomped past Jack, giving him a ruthless shove and then walked out into the late night dimness.  
  
She breathed heatedly as she walked away from the restaurant, away from Kelly and Lucille. She wanted to be alone, she wanted to smolder in peace.  
  
As she sneakily rounded around a corner to avoid the infamous Spot Conlon's notice, who happened to be standing nearby (but she knew for a fact that he could not see well at night. His near-sightedness was alright during the day, but at night it was useless. He was nothing.) and finally, after several more seconds of a fast-paced walk found herself sinking against a wall, huffing and muttering bitter words under her breath.  
  
After all, this was ridiculous. It was a cap, a piece of cloth that she used to pull up her hair and shield her eyes from the sun. What was so difficult about letting her keep it? He most likely had many more. As a matter of fact, she knew he had more where this one came from. She'd seen them with her very eyes! That demanding bastard- (A/N: Bec your word! Lol)  
  
"A little late for a young woman like yourself to be out. Alone, Ms. Cally Plenar."  
  
Cal felt her head smack against the hard, cold wood of the wall she leaned against, as the voice slowly, yet decidedly so, slithered into her range of hearing. She stood backing away from the voice, her eyes wide in apprehension. She did not even notice the stinging pain her head was now in, or the soreness whiplash had caused her neck.  
  
Again, the voice slyly skulked through the darkness; "I guess your precious newsies can't protect you now, though I highly doubt they would anyway."  
  
Cal backed up further, finally recognizing the voice for what it was. This was not any normal vagabond on the streets. This was someone she knew very well. She had heard this voice many times before, through threatening and harshness, and also sneaky kindness that made her wonder. This voice was the connection to her past. It had been one of the reasons for her secrecy, her running.her constant lies.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Her hoarse tone quietly made its way to the dark- faced man's ears and he smiled. Oh, how deliciously good this was. 


	3. Ch 3a

"Oh, dear little Cally, the sweet, innocent young Plenar girl. Are you scared?"  
  
Cal stood stiffly against her hard cold wooden wall, finding no comfort in her horrible position. She was alone. She had let herself be caught by scum of the earth like this. Most importantly, she had nowhere to run.  
  
And if this wasn't enough, the man moved toward her slowly as she, a petrified immovable object, stood and watched on.  
  
"What has Miss Cally been doing with herself?" he questioned slyly, staring deeply into her eyes, maliciousness and hate resonating from the very presence of his being.  
  
"Nothing that concerns you," Cal whispered, attempting to control her racing pulse and fear with a shadow of defiance.  
  
"Oh really?" the man laughed, walking a step closer to his victim. "You've been hiding, Miss Cally and do you know what?"  
  
He paused waiting for her to answer but she stood rebelliously against her wall, allowing him to take several more steps toward her helpless state. He saw her shivering, saw the plain fear in her movements, but her eyes were hard, unyielding.  
  
"You've made me very angry," his voice whispered this into the air between them. Dangerously it traveled to Cal's ears where she shivered involuntarily, repulsed and ready to scream.  
  
Finally, he covered the remaining distance between them, a shadow no longer covering his face. Cal looked up into it fearfully, remembering the long sliding nose, the nice lips and the piercing brown orbs swirling with repressed anger and bubbling over with hate.  
  
"You expected me to stay?" she murmured back, feeling her voice quiver as it left her mouth.  
  
"Oh, Miss Cally," he replied, planting both arms to the side of her head. "It was an undeniable fact that this was so."  
  
If the sky could have opened, could have taken her into the black infinite covered with specks of white, Cal would have welcomed it. If the ground could have shaken with force like none before and swallowed her into molten hot lava, she would have laughed gaily. Yet, none of these things would happen. She was stuck in a deadly position, burning with fear and hate, but the inescapable truth was before her. She was as good as caught.  
  
The man, young at that, gently picked the cap off her head, releasing a mess of brown curls, and stuffed it into his coat. After he had carefully done this, Cal looking at him with fear and unexpected surprise, felt his hand gently rest on her hair, twirling a finger around a brown sweaty curl.  
  
"What are you doing?" Cal finally said, fear propelling her voice to be louder than a whisper as the man twirled yet another piece of her hair in his fingers.  
  
"I didn't realize," the man said, "that you had grown so much in a year. From a silly girl to this."  
  
Slowly he ran his hands through her hair, causing a severe reaction from Cal. She smacked him hard, attempting to run from his haunting form, but was only caught again in a stronger hold.  
  
"God damn you, Cally Plenar!" he strained viciously. "This doesn't have to be hard. You know why I'm here. You know that I'll never leave you alone until you follow me!"  
  
Composing himself slightly, the man loosened his grip on her arms allowing some leeway for his hand to yet again travel to her hair. "It doesn't have to be unpleasant, dear Cally. Now it doesn't."  
  
Gritting her teeth, restraining her pulsing tension to knock him over (even though this would not be possible) she managed to spit out, "And what about Christine, you bastard?"  
  
Even the young stranger would not put up with this blow. With a quiet howl he threw her up against a wall, his anger spilling over as she kicked and hit him to relieve his abuse.  
  
Finally, using his blinding anger to Cal's advantage, she crawled away from the brawl grasping anything she could to make him release his grip.  
  
"Damn you!" he hissed, as he attempted to grab hold of her foot. She kicked him unrelentingly, feeling the adrenaline rush through her veins like fire.  
  
Once his grip had been released and a wail of pain had been emitted from his detestable mouth, Cal stood and ran blindly. She ran through darkness, through fear, not even hearing the sniffles and not even feeling the salt stinging her eyes and brushing down her face in huge amounts.  
  
It wouldn't have occurred to her that she was not alone. It didn't even cross Cal's mind that there was someone else watching this entire scene with great interest. This someone's smirk could have been seen a mile away.  
  
Through sufficient running, and a loss of breath, Cal stopped herself near the building that Lucille had lent her a room in for the time being. She gasped for several moments, noticing several outlandish things about her presence. She was sobbing, something extremely unusual for her normal disposition and tears streamed down her cheeks. Shaking herself, she put a stop to the madness she was in, running a hand through her unruly hair in absolute overdrive.  
  
How could he have been here? How could she have let herself be caught so easily?  
  
"I'm an idiot. That's why," Cal, muttered her breath now completely regained.  
  
"I'd say so."  
  
Again, another case of whiplash struck Cal as she swung her head in the direction that the voice came from, cursing from the pain that filled her. This voice was not threatening at all, as the last had been, but still she did not enjoy the admittance to her solitude.  
  
Spot Conlon joined her in the darkness. He swaggered nearer to her, a smirk adorning his hard features and his eyes sparkling in some unknown since of enjoyment.  
  
"What are you doing here, Conlon?" Cal said disgustedly.  
  
"Takin' a walk," he replied sardonically.  
  
"Then continue walking. Don't let me interrupt."  
  
Spot shrugged, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it against the wall.  
  
"I spose I could," he said puffing smoke out of his mouth.  
  
"Quit supposing and just do it then! I'm tired of talking to you," she snapped.  
  
"Jesus, Cal," he muttered looking at her. "Calm down. All I'se was gonna ask was what da hell was dat scene ova dere?"  
  
It was a calm question, stated very serenely as if he were asking about the weather. However, the weather would have been a tad more agreeable then what he had said. Cal felt her insides explode in the realization of his discovery. Yet, somehow her voice remained unruffled as well.  
  
"What scene are you referring to?"  
  
"Oh, now we're playin' dumb?" he questioned throwing the cigarette aside. "Back dere yous sure as hell knew what ya was talkin' bout."  
  
"What?" Cal finally said after several minutes of heated silence.  
  
"Don't think I didn't see youses and dat man. Is dat ya little secret, Cal? You gots some guy dat's tyin ya down?"  
  
"Your already guessing, Conlon?" she asked angrily, turning away from him. "I guess that's what you'd like to think, isn't it? I'm just some forgotten whore that happened to be someone's preference. Well, think that if you'd like. Just know that it's not true as you say it and that will be comfort enough for me."  
  
Ready to walk away from the detestable situation she found herself in, Cal was surprised when Spot responded to what she had said.  
  
"I ain't got skill enough to imagine you as a whore," Spot quietly managed to say. "You ain't stupid, yous can read and write, an' you weren't brought up on da streets."  
  
"How very vigilant of you," Cal said laughing slightly.  
  
She turned to face him again, but the smirk that had held his lips in disgust moments before was washed away. In its place was a very serious look that made Cal's smirk disperse into the air.  
  
"He grabbed ya," Spot said, taking his cap off and wiping his brow, for humidity and heat filled this night. "I don't like that."  
  
"Well, it's nice of you to notice this, but if you had really cared, why didn't you come get him off of me?"  
  
The question rang into the night, but Spot did not answer it.  
  
"You cried, Cal. I don't like that either."  
  
"So you imagine me as someone that never cries?" she questioned again. "I am a human being after all. Then again, you wouldn't know the ways of normal human's. You're a god!"  
  
He grimaced as she spoke. The words were joking and malice-filled, hitting him in places, he had not felt in years. He was a god to the Newsie World. He was what made everyone tick. He was the spirit and the power of influence. However, his stone-cold disposition and great fighting skills were what made people stare. He was a cold human being, untouchable to anyone else. If this was godlike, then it was Hell as well.  
  
"Don't look at me like that, Conlon. You know what I'm saying is true. Try to deny it."  
  
"Don't get off the subject, Cal," Spot muttered, composing himself against her defensive, cruel words. "You've got a problem and I think you need help."  
  
Cal's humorous mood was again brought down and damp as Spot spoke. She could no longer play the "I don't know" game. He wouldn't leave her be.  
  
"What exactly did you hear, Conlon?" 


End file.
